These Flamingo Creatures, birth-named Ronnie and Ruth-Maria, gabble like freaky ghosts or twist the cans on vintage sound-boxes or drop exotic holiday recordings or strum a hefty violin or pound the black and white teeth of old Joanna.

But let’s be frank here – all they touch is fertile enough to grow damn cucumbers.

A richness of ideas coupled with a deft finger carves a new niche into the international underground – never afraid of beauty, comfortable as hell with free-space, standard bearers for expansive peyote visions dripped direct to C30.

Discombobulate presents three gems of free flowing brilliance and space music for the present
tense. Flamingo Creatures navigates tactile experiments with sound boxes and various
instrumentations to arrive at mesmerizing slow moving nebulous kraut-ambient like exotic and
quixotic holidays for over-agitated brain cells. Equal bits freaky as it is gentle and quite moving
indeed – transporting in a wonderland not only visited by the infamous Alice. Black and white
appears to be non-extant in this aural diorama of glowing colors – a kaleidoscope of new age of
these present times without any notion or connotation of the muzak and prayer bells usually
connected to this genre. Out there, but just within grasp for us mere mortals back on planet
earth, and also: not too far removed from a semi-acoustic twist on the idiom Gnod employs at
their most spacey and free-form.
Ezio Piermantel’s tape is different fare. His Hörspiel-like sequence of tracks (sometimes
‘songs’) comes across as a blend of Felix Kubin, The Residents and deranged tinkerings of free-
form Beck on a diet of Shit and Shine. It’s all a bit Dada. It’s utterly strange, yet close to (aural)
home enough for comfort. Piermantel maintains a DIY approach to use sound use: i.e. he utilizes
what’s in the kitchen drawer or is strewn throughout the recording room. Paired with clever use
of electronics his construction ooze as much music concrète as they honor the best tradition of
homo ludens in the sonic fields forever unashamed and unbound. Sweltering hot stuff too.
Squeaky noise of what sounds like maltreated electronics and overdriven trumpet merged with
disembodied chanting and a clattering of percussion opens the proceedings on Farewell Body Bags
by Lambs Gamble. This brightly shining slab of fluorescent yellow vinyl takes no prisoners. Arid and
stale airs are filled to the brim with scratches, screams, body blows of bass and freakishly HOT
spices. A heady cocktail for sure, but in no way (too) academic. Lambs Gamble aims for and goes
with gut feeling. Let’s hope the coffee is strong enough to defend itself. The main question is:
‘What’s gestating in there?’ An alchemist’s broth of genuine musical prowess dedicated to full
frontal weirdness, chock full of odds and ends to loose your way in – ocean currents to loose you
feet; lava like rainbows blubbering down a mountain side with waterfalls and unicorns or flying wool
sheep. Toads singing by the side of the pond – on a froggy night. Seems all quite natural too me;
nothing contrived or too thought out and over. Living the life of taking a risk, not giving a shit and
damn well knowing what the funk you’re doing. And when. And how. The Cabaret Voltaire in yellow
absinthe glow glory. (SSK)